


Three Days

by TrueIllusion



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Friendship, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: An account of the three days Michael and Brian spent at the hospital, after Justin was bashed. Takes place right at the end of episode 122 and moves forward from there.





	Three Days

Michael was just a handful of steps down the jetway -- steps away from his new life in Portland with David Cameron -- when his phone rang. Brian’s name appeared on the small, illuminated display.

Michael almost didn’t answer.

He honestly didn’t know why Brian would be calling him now, when he knew he was about to get on a plane. Brian was the one who had told Michael he should go to Portland and not look back. Be happy. With David. So it seemed strange that he’d be calling now. Had he changed his mind about letting Michael go? Was he calling to try to talk Michael into staying?

Michael didn’t know what made him answer the phone, but some unseen force did.

Later, he would thank God that he did.

“Hello?” he said, holding the phone to his ear as he paused in the narrow hallway that led to his future with David.

On the other end of the phone, Brian said nothing. Michael could hear him breathing. His breath sounded unsteady. Ragged.

“Brian? Are you okay?”

Michael could hear a cacophony of activity in the background -- urgent shouts and crying and sounds of general misery. The sort of noises you might hear in a hospital emergency room. But Brian said nothing.

“Brian?”

Still nothing.

“Brian, what’s going on? Where are you?”

Michael heard a shaky breath being inhaled before Brian spoke. “It’s Justin.” Brian’s voice sounded...wrong. Almost like he was crying. Now Michael knew something was very, very wrong. Brian Kinney didn’t cry. And definitely not with other people around.

“What? What happened? What’s wrong with Justin?”

Michael knew Justin had been headed to his prom that evening. That he’d asked Brian to go with him, and Brian had said no, electing instead to celebrate his birthday alone in his loft and try his hand at scarfing. Autoerotic asphyxiation. Supposedly the best fucking orgasm of your life. And probably the last fucking orgasm of your life. Michael had come into the loft just in time to save his friend from doing something seriously stupid.

Brian didn’t answer Michael’s question. All he said were three words. A barely audible whisper, in a hoarse voice, thick with emotion.

“I need you.”

Michael dropped his bag right there in the hallway. Brian Kinney didn’t like to need anyone. And he certainly never said it. Whatever this was, it was bad. Michael wasn’t getting on that plane. Not tonight.

“Tell me where you are,” Michael said gently, hoping he could keep Brian on the line and talking long enough to find out what he needed to know so he could be there for his friend. He knew Brian well enough to be all too aware that when something bad happened, he would shut down, cordoning himself off behind his walls so he could compartmentalize any uncomfortable emotions that he didn’t want to be feeling. That he didn’t want to show.

“Allegheny General. They don’t know… They don’t know…” Brian kept starting the sentence but seemed to be unable to finish it. He sounded desperate. Lost.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Just...sit tight. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” Brian whispered on the other end of the line, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“I love you,” Michael said.

“You too.” Brian’s response was barely audible. Brian hung up first, and Michael could have sworn he heard a choked-off sob just before the call was cut off.

With shaking hands, Michael pressed the “end” button on his own phone and let it fall back into this pocket. He felt numb, but he knew he had to get moving. He had to get to Brian. He picked up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder, then turned around and walked out of the jetway and back into the terminal.

He could hear the gate agent calling after him, confused, but he was too lost in his own thoughts to comprehend what she was saying, much less respond to her.

Michael moved through the airport, feeling like he was in a fog. Like he was somehow separated from everyone moving around him. They all had places to be, people to see, planes to catch. They were rushing, hurrying through the terminal, while Michael felt like he was moving in slow motion. The only person he needed to see was Brian.

He caught a cab just outside of the terminal, giving his destination to the driver in a nervous, almost hesitant, voice. Part of him didn’t want to know what had happened to Justin that was so awful that it had his best friend sobbing in a hospital emergency room. His strong, seemingly unflappable best friend, who Michael knew had a much softer, more sensitive side that almost no one saw. That no one was allowed to see. Keeping that side of him hidden was how Brian protected himself. But it had sounded on the phone like Brian’s walls had crumbled. He sounded like he was barely holding himself together.

Michael knew Brian loved Justin. He’d seen it. Even if Michael didn’t want to acknowledge it, because some irrational part of him was still jealous of Justin. Justin had what Michael had always wanted. And even though Michael was with David, he still found it difficult to let Brian go.

But none of that mattered now. His best friend needed him, and Michael had to get to him.

The ride to the hospital seemed to drag on forever. He managed to have the presence of mind to call his mother from the back seat of the cab to let her know that Justin was in the hospital, but he didn’t know what had happened. She panicked -- Michael could hear her rushing around the house, breathlessly grabbing things, before she told him she had to go and she would see him at the hospital. She hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t on the plane to Portland. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she beat him to the hospital, with as long as this cab ride was taking. When they finally arrived, Michael paid the driver, realizing that his hands were still shaking. He had no idea what he was about to find when he went through the hospital’s emergency room doors, but he knew it wasn’t going to be good.

Michael walked through the sliding glass doors and glanced around the waiting room, searching for familiar faces. His gaze landed on Daphne, sitting alone in the corner, her mascara running down her face, which was streaked with tears. There was blood on her dress. Blood on her hands.

He walked up to her, not knowing what to say. How to start. What happened? Where is Justin? Why is there blood on your dress? Brian called me. Where’s Brian?

But he didn’t have to say any of those things. Daphne spoke first.

“Brian’s down there.” She pointed down the hallway. Her voice was trembling with emotion. “He was with him. He won’t talk to anybody. I went out to the garage to see if Justin was coming back into the dance, and I found them...” Her voice trailed off as she dissolved into tears once again, burying her face in her hands.

At the end of a long, empty hallway, Michael could see Brian sitting alone on a bench. Staring straight ahead.

Michael lowered his bag to the floor beside Daphne. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with a wadded up tissue. Michael touched her shoulder briefly, still not knowing what to say, before turning and walking in the direction of his best friend.

Brian looked almost catatonic, not even stirring when Michael approached. It was as if he didn’t even notice Michael was there at all. His cell phone was still in his hand. He was clutching it as if it was a lifeline -- the only thing tying him to reality right now.

The white silk scarf Brian had used to try to hang himself while he jerked off earlier now hung around his neck, no longer white. It was soaked with dark red blood, which Michael could only assume was Justin’s.

Michael sat down beside his friend and hesitantly placed a hand on Brian’s back, not wanting to startle the man, who seemed to be in his own world, disconnected from reality. He’d never seen Brian look like this. Staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. He looked every bit as lost as he’d sounded on the phone.

Slowly, Michael moved his hand up to the back of Brian’s head, running his fingers lightly across the soft, chestnut brown hair at the nape of his neck, in hopes that it might bring some measure of comfort. Although Michael didn’t feel like there was anything he could do to comfort his friend right then. He’d never seen Brian look like this before. Michael was one of the few people who had seen Brian cry. One of the few allowed inside the walls that usually kept this part of the man hidden, locked safely away from prying eyes and people and things that might hurt him. But he’d never seen this. This numbness. Like Brian had run through the gamut of emotion, all the way to the other side, where he simply felt nothing.

All Brian did was blink. Like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Michael still didn’t know what was happening. Daphne hadn’t really told him. She hadn’t seemed able to. Neither did Brian.

Brian closed his eyes, seemingly trying to hold back the emotions that were bubbling up inside him. When he opened them again, they were glistening with moisture. His stare was still vacant, like he was somewhere far, far away from here right now. Michael wondered what he was thinking about. What he was remembering.

Slowly, wetness start to build in Brian’s eyes, which were darker in that moment than Michael had ever seen them. Their usual warm, golden color, a mix of brown and green, had been replaced with an inky darkness. Michael could only imagine what horror Brian’s eyes had witnessed that night. There was dried blood on Brian’s face...his neck...his lips. Clear evidence that something truly awful had happened. A dried tear track wound its way through the ruddy smear of color on Brian’s cheek. As the tears spilled over, Brian blinked again, letting one run down his face, without reaching up to wipe it away. He simply let it go.

Michael felt powerless.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They just sat together in the stark, white hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing above them. Michael clutched Brian’s left hand with his own. Michael’s right hand was still carding through Brian’s hair, caressing his neck and his back, trying to bring some sort of comfort, although that effort seemed futile. Brian’s right hand still hung on to the cell phone. Michael wondered if he was waiting for it to ring, or if there was someone he needed to call that he couldn’t bring himself to call.

“Does Jennifer know? Did someone call her?” Michael asked softly.

Brian nodded almost imperceptibly. Michael wondered why he hadn’t seen Jennifer in the waiting room.

“What happened?” Michael finally managed to ask. Although he still wasn’t sure if Brian would be able to tell him.

It took Brian a few more moments of soundless reflection, and several deep, shuddering breaths, before he began to speak.

“It was my fault,” Brian said. His voice was flat. Completely void of the intense emotions that were currently etched on his face. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

“What was your fault?” Michael wasn’t sure if he should push or not, but he felt like he needed to get a clearer picture of what had happened, so he could better help his friend.

“He hit him with a baseball bat. That fucking kid we ran into a few weeks ago at Woody’s hit Justin in the head with a bat. Because I fucking danced with him. Because I fucking kissed him. Because I fucking flung our sexuality in their faces. I fucking went and got him killed.”

Jesus. Michael knew there were truly awful and violent people in the world, but to be confronted with it like this was almost unfathomable.

“Brian, is he…?” Michael couldn’t bring himself to say the word. He prayed it wasn’t true. That the reason Jennifer was missing from the waiting room wasn’t because she was identifying Justin’s body.

Brian shook his head. “They don’t know. I don’t know,” Brian whispered. He stopped and took another unsteady breath. “There was so much blood.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief at the news that Justin was alive, at least, as far as Brian knew. He hoped that it would stay that way. Justin had to be okay. Mostly because he didn’t know what it would do to his friend if Justin didn’t survive this. Michael had never seen Brian like this, ever. Broken. Desperate.

Michael pushed aside the memories that were starting to rise up in the back of his mind, from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, of how what had happened to Justin could have happened to him, years ago. He didn’t have time to deal with those thoughts now. He couldn’t. This wasn’t the time, or the place.

“I rode in the ambulance with him. I had to tell them I was his partner… I couldn’t let him go alone. Michael… I…” Brian’s voice cracked and he was unable to finish his sentence. But Michael was fairly sure he knew what Brian was trying to say, and couldn’t bring himself to say. He loved Justin.

“I know,” Michael said, as he squeezed Brian’s hand, hoping the gesture was reassuring for his friend, who seemed to be on the verge of falling apart, right there in the hospital hallway.

“Mikey, I’m scared,” Brian breathed. “What have I done?” Suddenly, Brian’s voice sounded so small. Like he was a kid again, seeking sanctuary at the Novotny house when his father was in one of his many drunken fits of rage. Not like a grown man who had just turned 30 years old that day. Michael had almost forgotten that today was Brian’s birthday.

Desperate to take away some of the pain and fear his friend was feeling, Michael let go of Brian’s hand and pulled him into a hug. Brian collapsed into him, and Michael could feel Brian’s fingers digging into his back as the man gripped him tightly, burying his face in Michael’s shoulder.

“I can’t lose him. He can’t… He’s too young…” Brian’s breath was hot on Michael’s neck as his friend clung to him for dear life.

Michael truly didn’t know what to say. He wanted so badly to say something like, “He’ll be fine,” or “It’ll be okay.” But those things would be nothing but empty platitudes. The ugly truth of the matter was that he didn’t know either of those things. So he said nothing.

“I held his hand in the ambulance. They wanted me to hold his hand. Talk to him. Tell him to hold on. So I did.” Brian paused and took in another shaky breath. “I know it wasn’t enough. I should never have come.”

Michael could feel Brian’s shoulders shaking as he spoke, still teetering on the edge of losing control. That was probably the scariest part of this for Michael -- seeing Brian like this. So raw. Showing feelings that he would never allow himself to show under normal circumstances. Brian’s current emotional state conveyed more to Michael about what had happened and how it had affected his friend than words ever could have. He was clearly having trouble burying his feelings about this -- shoving it down the way he usually did everything that made him feel something. Brian’s internal fight was palpable. And Michael found it frightening.

“It was enough,” Michael said softly, rubbing small circles across Brian’s back. “I’m sure just knowing you were there with him, was enough.”

“I can’t do this.” Brian lifted his head up to look at Michael, his eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“You can, Brian. You’re the strongest person I know.” Michael stared directly into Brian’s eyes, trying to will his friend to believe his words. He knew how badly Brian needed to believe them. He also knew how difficult it would be to make that happen, with all of his friend’s hidden insecurities standing in the way.

Brian blinked, clearing some of the wetness from his eyes. His gaze was disbelieving. “What if he…”

Again, Brian didn’t seem to be able to bring himself to complete the sentence. To say the words. To be honest, Michael didn’t want to hear the words either. He didn’t need to. They were haunting enough even when left unspoken.

“Don’t think like that,” Michael said, as much to himself as to Brian. He pulled Brian’s body in close to him again. This time, he noticed how cold Brian’s skin felt, and the slight tremble in his limbs. How fast his heart was beating. “Why don’t we go back to the waiting room?” Michael asked gently as he released his friend from the hug, leaving his hands on Brian’s upper arms, stabilizing him.

“No,” Brian said simply, shaking his head.

“Why not?” With each passing minute, and each succinct phrase uttered, Michael was becoming more and more concerned for his friend. It seemed like Brian had immediately withdrawn from the situation as much as he could, and his physical symptoms were as if he was in shock himself, even though he hadn’t been the one injured.

Brian paused for a few seconds, again, just breathing. Like he was trying to calm himself down, but wasn’t able to.

“I couldn’t look at her,” he said, finally. “Not if I got him killed.”

Michael presumed that the unspecified “her” was Jennifer. So apparently she had been there at some point, before Brian retreated to the hallway. He wondered why Brian couldn’t seem to say her name.

“We should go back out there,” Michael said, keeping his voice gentle as he rubbed his hands up and down Brian’s arms. “If there’s an update, that’s where the doctor will go to let everyone know.”

Brian didn’t answer, but he didn’t object when Michael pulled him up to his feet and started to carefully guide him back down the hallway to the waiting room. When they arrived, Daphne was still in the corner, with Michael’s bag at her feet. Jennifer was sitting next to her now, eyes red and swollen, her face streaked with tears, her expression every bit as soul dead as Brian’s had been when Michael first arrived. She didn’t raise her gaze to look at Brian or Michael. Michael looked over at Brian, who was staring down at the floor as Michael guided him into a chair across from Daphne.

Michael could almost see the transition. Brian’s eyes glazing over. The mask coming back up over Brian’s countenance, now that he was back in the presence of others. Now that it wasn’t just Brian and Michael. Now that Brian no longer felt safe to let go.

He grabbed Brian’s hand again, squeezing it -- hard. He could sense that he was losing Brian, and that he needed to ground him. Anchor him to reality. Keep him in the now. Keep him from pulling away -- retreating back into himself. Back into the place of numbness and solitude. Brian’s eyes briefly flicked toward Michael with an expression he couldn’t read, before turning back down to the floor.

At that moment, Debbie Novotny burst through the doors and into the waiting room, still just as breathless as she had been on the phone.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how hard it is to get a goddamn taxi in this town?” she muttered under her breath as she glanced around the room, her eyes quickly settling on the foursome in the corner. She rushed over to Jennifer, took the chair beside her, and wrapped her arms around the younger woman. Jennifer broke down on Debbie’s shoulder -- her own wall of numbness crumbling, much like Brian’s had in the hallway with Michael.

Brian had no reaction. He simply stared vaguely in the direction of Daphne’s shoes, as if he wasn’t really seeing them at all. Michael rubbed his thumb across the back of Brian’s hand, and felt his friend’s fingers dig slightly into his palm.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity -- Debbie holding Jennifer’s hand, who was in turn holding Daphne’s. Michael holding Brian’s. Debbie had tried to comfort Daphne and Brian as well -- Daphne was receptive and appreciative, even though she was still in shock, but Brian was barely responsive. He’d grimaced when she touched him, almost as if it was physically painful to be touched, although Michael was fairly sure Brian hadn’t been hurt. Only Justin. Debbie seemed to understand though, and didn’t try to push him, although she kept casting him worried looks.

Occasionally, Michael would see a stranger steal a glance at them, probably wondering what was going on. Why Daphne and Brian were covered in blood and still just sitting in the ER waiting room.

At one point, Jennifer had managed to tell Debbie what had happened, from what she’d been told so far. Brian didn’t bother to interject or offer his version of events, even though he’d been the sole eyewitness. He hadn’t said a word since Michael had brought him out of the hallway. The entire time Jennifer was telling the story, her gaze kept shifting from Debbie to Brian. Michael wondered if she blamed Brian for what had happened. Maybe that was why Brian had told Michael it was all his fault. Because Jennifer had told him it was.

Finally, a young woman in blue scrubs approached them and introduced herself as one of the hospital’s resident physicians, assisting the attending physician who had been assigned to Justin. Brian lifted his head from the wall alongside his chair that he’d been leaning against and turned toward her. The pleading look in Brian’s eyes made Michael’s heart hurt for his friend. Jennifer, Daphne, and his mother all had the same desperate look. Michael tried to force himself to pay attention to the doctor’s words, in case he was the only one who had the presence of mind to digest the information. He hoped and prayed that she was bringing good news, although he didn’t know exactly what “good” would mean in this type of situation.

“We were able to get him stabilized,” she said, as she settled herself into the chair beside Michael and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands clasped together, to discuss Justin’s medical situation with the four of them. “Justin suffered a fractured skull due to blunt force trauma, and does seem to have some brain trauma as well. He’s been taken into surgery to open his skull to drain some of the blood that’s building up at the site of the injury, to prevent that from causing additional trauma.”

“Will he be okay?” Debbie’s tearful voice interrupted the doctor. Michael thought that might have been the quietest he’d ever heard his normally loud, boisterous mother speak.

“I wish I could say yes, but the truth is, at this point we don’t know. We won’t know more until he’s out of surgery, and we’re able to perform some additional tests. Right now our main priority is stopping any additional damage from occurring.”

Brian leaned his head against the wall again and closed his eyes. Michael knew that wasn’t the news Brian had wanted to hear. Hell, it wasn’t the news any of them wanted to hear.

“I’m going to move you all to the surgical waiting room. You’ll have a bit more privacy there.” The young doctor glanced around the busy waiting room, where people were constantly drifting in and out, children were crying, and people were moaning in pain, waiting for their turn to be seen. The noise of the environment had long since faded to the background for Michael, though -- he felt like he’d been separated from reality as much as Brian had been. Like their little group had existed in a vacuum, just sitting and waiting for news. News that had finally come, but still didn’t offer any conclusive answers.

She led them down the hallway, past the bench where Michael had found Brian earlier, to an elevator that took them to the second floor of the hospital. Then, they walked down another long, deserted hallway to a smaller waiting room, tucked away in an alcove, with a restroom across the hall. The room was empty. After all, it was nearly midnight -- there weren’t many surgeries happening at this hour, unless it was an emergency situation. Like the situation they currently found themselves in.

“I’ll update you as soon as I can,” she said as she turned and left the room.

It wasn’t until he was confronted with total silence that Michael realized how much the relative chaos of the ER waiting room that he thought he’d tuned out had actually been providing a distraction -- keeping Michael from getting too bogged down in the gravity of what was happening. Keeping him from being pulled down into the dark and scary set of memories he’d tried for so many years to forget. Now, the silence was deafening.

Michael had never told a soul about what had happened to him in college, even though it was the main reason he’d dropped out. He remembered how ashamed he’d felt -- like somehow it was his fault, or he had asked for it -- but mostly, he remembered how scared he’d been. How frightening it was to think -- no, to know -- that he had a target on his back simply because he was gay. Now, he realized just how lucky he’d been. They might have hurt him, but at least they hadn’t tried to kill him.

Brian was leaning forward in the chair next to Michael, his elbows propped on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Michael wished there was something he could do for him, but he felt like anything he did was woefully inadequate. All he could do for Brian was hold his hand, or rub his back, or whisper words that he hoped would be soothing but probably weren’t.

After several more minutes of uncomfortable quiet, Michael heard familiar voices quietly echoing at the other end of the hallway. Seconds later, Emmett and Ted appeared in the doorway. Emmett was sniffling, clutching a wadded up tissue in his fist. Ted was close by his side, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to think or feel.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Emmett said tearfully. He sank down into a chair alongside Debbie, who patted his hand with her own. “It was on the news. I thought I must have misunderstood...that I wasn’t hearing what I thought I was hearing. That it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t have been him.”

Debbie wrapped an arm around Emmett’s shoulders as they shook with quiet sobs. Ted clutched Emmett’s free hand.

Melanie and Lindsay showed up just a few minutes later, accompanied by a sleeping Gus in a baby carrier. Lindsay took a seat on the other side of Brian, but he seemed to barely acknowledge her presence. She’d tenderly touched her hand to Brian's bloodstained cheek as she passed him, but he didn't act like he'd even felt her touch. Michael did notice that Brian’s gaze would occasionally move over to and settle on Gus for a few seconds, before he went back to staring at the floor.

Michael wondered what kind of world Gus would grow up in. If it would still be so full of the animosity and homophobia that had caused Justin to be so seriously hurt. Maybe Brian was thinking the same thing, every time he stole a glance at his son.

Michael couldn’t fathom being in Brian’s position, having witnessed such an atrocity, driven by pure hatred. He remembered their high school years -- how they’d both been called faggots and fairies. How Brian had acted like he didn’t care, and sometimes antagonized the bullies. Although Michael had always thought Brian might have cared more than he let on. Michael tried to not care either, but he couldn’t deny that it hurt.

He knew Justin had endured some of the same from Chris Hobbs, but this had crossed over into a whole new level of hate. Physical violence. Which, unfortunately, Michael had experienced as well, although not to this level. He’d never talked to anyone about it, not even Brian. He remembered thinking that Brian wouldn’t understand -- being irrationally afraid that Brian would think less of him, or wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore if he knew just how weak of a person Michael really was. How much he wished he could have confided in Brian, just to not feel so alone, although he could never make himself do it. How he’d sworn to himself that he’d carry this secret to his grave, and no one would ever know. They’d also never know how much it had affected him throughout his life -- and still did, to this day. Michael knew firsthand just how much harm hatred could cause.

But Michael still couldn’t wrap his brain around the level of hatred a person must possess in order to be driven to bash another human being in the head with a baseball bat -- to actually try to kill them. This had nothing to do with Brian and everything to do with Chris Hobbs and his internalized homophobia. It wasn’t Brian’s fault. Michael just hoped he could find a way to make his friend -- and Jennifer Taylor -- believe that.

A couple more hours passed as they all sat together in the surgical waiting room. The only sounds that interrupted the eerie quiet of this deserted area of the hospital were the occasional sobs, sniffles, and utterances of disbelief, wondering how on earth someone could do such a thing to Justin.

Eventually, the resident appeared again, looking exhausted and wearing an expression that Michael couldn’t read that immediately put him on edge. It felt like every person in that waiting room was collectively holding their breath, waiting for her to speak.

“We were able to relieve the pressure in his skull by draining the blood from the injury site,” she said. “We’re hopeful that we’ve prevented catastrophic damage by doing that. He’s in recovery now, and we’ll be taking him up to an ICU room shortly.” She stopped and gestured to Jennifer. “I can take you to see him.” Then she paused again and turned to the others. “But since it’s so late, and ICU visiting hours are over, I’ll have to ask that you all come back tomorrow. You’ll be limited to two at a time in the room, to allow Justin time to rest. He’s in a medically induced coma at the moment, so his brain can rest and recover. We’ll run some more tests tomorrow to get a better idea of what his long term prognosis will look like. Mrs. Taylor, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to see him.”

Debbie gave Jennifer a hug as the younger woman stood.

“You let me know if you need anything, you hear me?” Debbie said softly. “Tell Sunshine we love him.”

Jennifer nodded. “Why don’t you all go home and get some rest?” she said, looking around at the rest of the group that had assembled in support of her son, her gaze seeming to skip over Brian, who wasn’t looking at her anyhow. “I’ll call if anything changes.”

With that, she turned and followed the doctor out of the room.

The rest of them stayed for a bit longer, but slowly people started to go home, making plans to return the next day. Melanie and Lindsay were the first to leave, so they could get Gus back into bed. Lindsay hugged Brian before they left, and he held onto her for a long time before he let her go. She whispered something in his ear and Brian nodded. Lindsay had a sad smile on her face when she pulled away. She kissed Brian on the cheek, and then they were gone. Michael was surprised to see Brian respond to someone, since it had seemed for the past few hours that Brian was lost inside his head somewhere. Maybe he was coming around. Michael sure hoped so; what he had seen earlier worried him.

Daphne’s parents came to pick her up and take her home shortly after that. But before she left, she paused and placed her hand on Brian’s arm. He raised his head to face her, and they exchanged a look that spoke volumes. They’d shared something that two people would never want to share -- watching helplessly while the life of someone they loved hung in the balance. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then she gently squeezed his arm.

“Take care of yourself,” she said quietly. “Justin would want you to.” With that, she turned and followed her parents out of the room.

She was talking like Justin was already dead. That thought hit Michael hard, and made him scared for Brian.

Ted and Emmett left soon after, leaving Brian and Michael alone with Debbie. She leaned forward in her chair and laid a hand on Brian’s knee. “Why don’t you go home, clean up, and try to get some rest, honey? I know you’ve been through hell tonight.”

Brian shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “I’ll stay.” That was the first time he’d spoken since he and Michael were alone in the hallway.

“You won’t be able to see him until the morning. There’s not any reason to--“

“No.” Brian cut her off, his voice a bit more forceful. “I want to stay. I’m not leaving until I know he’s going to be okay.”

She reached out and touched Brian’s cheek with her other hand. “Sweetheart, Daphne was right, you need to take care of yourself,” she said, in a gentle tone she didn’t often use. Michael hadn’t heard his mother speak to Brian in that voice since they were teenagers. “Sunshine wouldn’t want you sitting here torturing yourself. Go home, get out of those clothes, take a shower...try to get some sleep.”

Brian laughed mirthlessly and jerked his head away from her touch. “You think I can sleep? I said I’m staying. You all can go home if you want, but I’m not leaving.” He paused for a moment and took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice had softened and quieted. “I’m not leaving him.”

Brian leaned forward and put his head in his hands once again. Debbie gestured for Michael to follow her into the hallway, just outside the door.

“I don’t want him staying here alone,” she said, turning her head to look back over her shoulder at Brian, who was folded in on himself in the chair, shaking like he might have been crying again.

“I wasn’t going to leave him,” Michael said, fighting the impulse to roll his eyes. “If he’s staying, I’ll stay too.”

“Give me the key to his apartment. I’ll bring him a change of clothes when I come back in a few hours.”

Michael glanced at his watch. It was almost 3 a.m. It wouldn’t be long now until the surgical waiting room started to get a lot less deserted. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should take Brian somewhere else, or see if there was a different waiting room for the ICU. He fished his keys out of his pocket and removed one key from his key ring, handing it to his mother. She kissed his cheek, then patted it with her hand before heading off down the hall, toward the elevator.

Returning to his seat, Michael put his hand on Brian’s back and started rubbing slow circles across it again. Brian was definitely crying now -- letting go of everything he’d been holding back when the others had been around, Michael guessed.

Michael was still at a loss. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. Hell, there was really nothing he could do. This whole situation sucked, to say the least. It was a tragedy for all involved.

Justin was so young. He had so much to live for. He didn’t deserve to have his life taken from him so soon, or to wind up a vegetable for the rest of his life. Michael sincerely hoped neither of those things would happen -- that there would be some miracle and Justin would be okay, like nothing had happened at all. But Michael knew that would be a miracle, indeed. You didn’t just come through getting your head bashed in with no long term effects, even if the effects ended up being mostly psychological.

In the silence and solitude, Michael found his thoughts drifting back to that night long ago, when his own innocence had been stolen. When something had happened to him that had certainly left him with long term psychological scars. Something that kept him from trusting anyone outside of Liberty Avenue with the knowledge that he was gay. Something that still impacted the way he walked into a room -- hesitant, mistrusting, wondering if it was safe -- even though he hadn't really thought about the events that had caused those anxieties in years. Tonight's events, however, had brought it all back into clear focus. All too clear, Michael thought.

It was just a few days before winter break of his first year of college -- that is, if you could call Allegheny Community College an actual college. Michael was over the moon because a guy in his English class who he’d been eyeing all semester had invited him to come over to his apartment to watch a movie. He remembered how he'd excitedly told his mother that he had a real date. Looking back now, he realized how naive he’d been.

When he’d gotten there, though, there was no movie, and it wasn’t just the guy from his English class in the apartment. He was there, with five or six of his buddies, and they looked like they’d been waiting for Michael to arrive. They’d physically overpowered him quickly -- sucker punching him, then kicking him after he fell to the ground, calling him every slur for “gay” they could think of. Fudgepacker. Faggot. Cocksucker. Then once he was disoriented and nearly unconscious from the pain and panic, they’d dragged him into the bedroom and made things even worse.

He remembered screaming and crying and begging them to stop and praying that he would pass out so he at least wouldn’t feel it anymore, or that someone would hear him and come to his rescue. But no one did. Eventually, they got bored with him and made him put his clothes back on and leave. He drove home in his piece of shit car that he’d bought with money he’d earned from his part time job at the Big Q, with hands that were shaking so hard he could barely steer, his vision blurred by tears. He remembered how thankful he’d been that they hadn’t punched him in the face -- that all of his bruises and welts were covered by his clothing, making it easier to hide his injuries. He was bleeding a little bit from a place he didn’t want to think about and could barely sit down, but he knew he’d never be able to tell anyone what had happened to him. He was too humiliated. He felt like an idiot for walking right into their trap.

The guy from his class hadn’t really liked him at all. It turned out he hated Michael and what he was, and had wanted to “teach him a lesson,” whatever that meant. Michael learned his lesson alright. He learned that sometimes being gay was best kept a secret.

When Michael had started college, he’d tried being out, because Brian told him he should be.

“Fuck the homophobes,” Brian had said. “Do what you want. Be yourself. No excuses, no apologies, no regrets.”

But that was a hell of a lot easier when you were Brian Kinney, 6’2” and fearless, than when you were Michael Novotny, 5’8” and a pathetic little faggot.

Michael had paid the price for being out. But now, he knew he’d been lucky that the price he’d paid wasn’t bigger. That he hadn’t paid with his life. He hoped Justin wouldn’t either. No one deserved that. And Michael hadn’t deserved what had happened to him. He realized that now.

He had never sought medical attention for what happened that night, even though he knew he should have -- that what had been done to him was serious. And it was a crime. A hate crime, really. But he felt too ashamed. No one could know. No one ever would. He’d deal with it alone. And he had, even though it was hard. He started missing classes because he was too afraid he’d run into one of the guys who had been at the apartment that night. That they’d do it again. Eventually, he’d dropped out of school, saying college just wasn’t for him, and citing his failing grades as evidence. His part time job at the Big Q turned into a full time job, and the rest was history.

He’d put those atrocious events behind him the best he could. And, for the most part, he felt like he had. He could live with the anxiety and the worry and the ingrained hesitance, and pretend to be okay. He’d been doing it for more than a decade. Who cared if he wasn’t out at work? What did it matter? He knew Brian didn’t understand -- hell, he’d told him so on numerous occasions and had even outed Michael to his coworker Tracy at his birthday party -- but that was just Brian being Brian. Brash, sometimes crass, never mincing words. Unapologetic. He was who he was, and you could take it or leave it. But now, Michael was left questioning once again whether or not this world was a safe one to be out and proud in. People were crazy. And that made the world a scary place.

The sort of place that had turned Brian Kinney into someone Michael didn’t recognize at the moment. Gone was the bravado and the devil-may-care attitude. Brian had been given a rude awakening to how dangerous it could be for them to just be themselves. Homophobia had claimed another victim in Justin Taylor. Now he was paying the price for being out, too. And Michael hated that for him. He was just a kid, for Christ’s sake.

Brian dozed off on Michael’s shoulder around 4 a.m. At least he was getting some rest, Michael thought. He hoped it might be at least a couple more hours before people started populating the waiting room that they’d had all to themselves until now. He knew Brian needed to sleep, and he didn’t want to wake him, but he also didn’t want his best friend to be on display, his clothes and face still stained with Justin’s blood, for the eyes of curious strangers. Thankfully, the first person into the room a little after 6 a.m. turned out to be Michael’s mother, holding a bag full of things he assumed she’d brought from Brian’s loft.

Brian startled awake, looking around for a moment like he was disoriented, his eyes wild and panicked. He looked down at his hands, and Michael noticed for the first time that there was blood smeared on Brian’s hands too. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it last night, but there was so much blood everywhere that he guessed it blended in, as awful as that sounded. The blood also seemed to jog Brian’s memory, for better or for worse. It was as if he was realizing in that moment that it wasn’t just an awful dream -- it had all been real. A nightmare come to life.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, seeming to be acknowledging the reality of the previous night. Needing a moment to process it.

Michael didn’t see how it would be possible to process it. Not really. He could recognize that it was real -- that it had happened. But how did you even begin to accept something so gruesome and evil?

Debbie took a seat across from Brian and put her hand on his knee again, then waited for him to raise his head and look at her. It took him a moment, but eventually he did. The pain in his friend’s eyes made Michael hurt for him -- he still couldn’t imagine the burden Brian was carrying, having witnessed the whole thing and been powerless to stop it.

Debbie gave Brian a sad smile, starting to move her thumb back and forth gently across the top of his knee.

“I went up to the third floor, where the ICU is,” she said. “There’s a family lounge up there that has a bathroom with a shower in it. You could use that to clean up and change. I think you’ll feel better if you get out of those clothes, honey.”

Brian shook his head and looked away again.

“Nothing is going to make me feel better,” he mumbled. “Not until I know he’s going to be okay.”

Michael and Debbie exchanged a look. They both seemed to be wondering the same thing: If Justin wasn’t okay...what would become of Brian?

“Let’s go upstairs,” Debbie said gently. Michael knew his mother knew exactly how to talk to Brian when he was trying to shut everyone out. They’d both seen him in that state, though not anywhere near this deeply, and not for a very long time. She stood and held out her hand, inviting Brian to take it so she could help him up.

Brian stood up as well, although he didn’t accept her hand or her help, and he turned away from Michael when Michael tried to put an arm around him. Apparently he wanted to be left alone, although he did allow them to lead him upstairs to the lounge Debbie had mentioned earlier.

When they arrived, Debbie handed Brian the bag and gestured in the direction of the bathroom. He reluctantly took it, went into the small room, and closed the door behind him. Several minutes passed before Brian ever turned the water on, but in the meantime, the sounds that were coming out of his friend made Michael want to go in there, hold Brian, and never let go. Now that Brian was alone, it sounded like he was letting out several hours worth of pent-up emotion. At one point, Michael started to get up, but Debbie grabbed his wrist and gestured for him to sit back down.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Let him.”

Finally, Michael heard the water turn on, which effectively drowned out any other sounds that were happening in the bathroom. Michael was thankful for that -- the last thing he wanted to hear was his best friend in such immense pain, that he could do absolutely nothing about.

The water ran for a very, very long time, and again, Michael wanted to go in there, because he was becoming very worried about what was happening on the other side of the door. But his mother seemed unconcerned. She apparently saw how agitated he was getting, and spoke again, even though he’d made no move to get up this time.

“Michael, he’s okay. Let him have some time.”

Eventually, the water turned off, and several more minutes passed -- quietly this time -- before Brian emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, looking even more haggard than he had when he’d gone in. But he wasn’t covered in blood anymore. The bag Debbie had brought with her from the loft now appeared to be stuffed with his tuxedo.

“Here, honey, I’ll take that for you,” she said, reaching out for the bag.

But Brian jerked it out of her reach with a quick, short, “No.” He set the bag down under a chair and sank down into it. He looked absolutely exhausted. Spent.

Michael and Debbie spent the next two hours trying to get Brian to eat or drink something, to no avail. All he wanted to do was sit in the chair and stare at the floor. The only time he looked up was when Jennifer Taylor walked into the room, and then he looked straight back down, avoiding making eye contact with her.

Jennifer said they’d sent her out of the room briefly while they did some tests on Justin, that would hopefully gauge his current neurological function. A doctor came in a bit later, and she went out in the hallway to discuss the results with him, then never returned.

“I think I’ll go sit with her for a while and see what’s going on,” Debbie said.

When Debbie returned a while later, they didn’t know much more than they had when she’d left.

“The results were inconclusive,” she said. “I didn’t understand half of what was said, but the basic gist sounded like Sunshine isn’t out of the woods yet, unfortunately.”

Brian ran his hand through his hair, which was still damp from the shower. Michael noticed his hand was shaking.

The hours passed by, and people came and went -- Daphne and Lindsay and Melanie and Ted and Emmett, and a few other people that Michael didn’t know, that he assumed must have been family. Michael nervously called David to let him know what had happened -- that he hadn’t just stood him up. David was incredibly understanding, and told him to take all the time he needed. Debbie and Michael took turns going to the cafeteria for food, but neither of them could get Brian to come along or to eat anything they brought back for him. Debbie did get him to drink some water, but that was all he would do. At least it was something.

They didn’t see Jennifer again until the early evening, when she came in to tell Debbie she was going home to try to get some sleep. She ignored Brian and Michael, acting like they weren’t even there.

Michael and Debbie both tried again to get Brian to go home, but he refused. Eventually, Debbie went home herself, and Brian and Michael were left alone again for another night. By this point, Michael was as exhausted as Brian looked, but he’d stay with Brian for as long as Brian wanted him to. Brian had his head leaning back against the wall and his eyes closed -- Michael assumed he was either asleep or close to it. Michael laid his hand over Brian’s, almost protectively, and let his own eyes close. It didn’t take him long to drift off to sleep himself.

When Michael awoke a few hours later, his hand was dangling over an empty chair next to him, where Brian had been when he fell asleep. Panic gripped Michael for an instant, as he wondered where Brian had gone. There were a lot of possibilities, and Michael feared that some of them might not be good. The last time Brian had wandered off in a hospital, Michael had found him up on the roof, talking about how he could end it all right now by jumping off. And back then, he’d only been freaking out about fatherhood. This situation was far more serious.

The door to the bathroom attached to the lounge was standing wide open, so Brian definitely wasn’t in there. He must be somewhere else in the hospital, Michael thought, trying to push out of his his mind the possibility that Brian could have gone and done something very stupid. But with the mental state Brian had been in, coupled with sheer exhaustion, some of the darker options in Michael’s brain didn’t seem far off, unfortunately. Michael stood up from the chair a little too quickly, trying to ignore the sharp pain and stiffness in his back from sleeping in the hard chair, and walked out into the hallway, looking both ways to see if Brian was out there. He wasn’t.

Michael wandered down the hallway and around a corner, and that was when he saw Brian -- standing outside of a closed door to a room at the end of the hall, looking through the window at what was inside. Michael approached Brian as quietly as he could, so as not to disturb anyone who was sleeping, since he wasn’t sure he and Brian should even be back here at this hour. Once Michael was alongside his friend, he could see Justin through the window, lying in the bed, hooked up to what seemed like a million different machines, with tubes and wires sticking out of him in all directions. There was a large bandage on his head. He looked like he was sleeping, though. Peacefully. Michael wasn’t sure why that surprised him, or what he thought people in a coma were supposed to look like.

Brian’s palm was pressed flat against the glass, like he wanted to make contact but simply couldn’t. Michael touched his hand to Brian’s back -- a simple gesture to say, “I’m here for you,” without saying the words. Brian didn’t turn away this time. In fact, he seemed to lean in to Michael’s touch.

“Why don’t you go in and sit with him?” Michael suggested, sure that would be against the hospital’s ICU visiting hours policy, but hell, they were already outside the room and no one had stopped them yet. And Brian was here, this close to Justin. Maybe it would help him if he got closer. If he could touch him.

Brian shook his head but didn’t say anything. He tipped his head downward and leaned his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they shone with tears. Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen Brian this emotional in the decade and a half they’d known each other -- not even when they were teenagers and his father would beat the shit out of him and he’d end up sleeping in Michael’s room. Not even when he’d have nightmares of his father while sleeping in Michael’s bed and wake up shaking because he was so scared. Not even when his father died a few months before.

Suddenly, Brian lifted his head, shook it a little like he was trying to clear his mind, pulled away from Michael, and walked back down the hall. Michael really wished Brian would talk to him. Let him know what was happening inside his head. Give him some direction on what he could do or say to help.

Michael followed Brian down the hallway and back into the family lounge, where Brian dropped down onto the couch, his body language betraying the despondency and hopelessness he must have been feeling. He slumped against the back of the couch for a moment, while Michael wondered if he should sit down next to him or just let him be alone for right now. Brian kicked his shoes off and pulled his knees up to his chest. Michael was struck by how much Brian looked like a little boy in that moment -- innocent but petrified. His eyes held a deep sadness -- they were still as dark as night. Michael wondered if they’d ever be bright and golden again, the way he remembered them. Brian squeezed them shut and shifted on the couch cushions so that he was lying down in the fetal position. He pressed his forehead into his knees, and Michael could see his shoulders start to shake.

Standing in the middle of the room, feeling completely useless, Michael was unsure if he should try to comfort Brian or not. Not even knowing whether or not his friend would want to be comforted. Maybe he didn’t think he deserved to be comforted. That thought put Michael in as much pain as Brian seemed to be in at the moment.

He’d always hated how undeserving Brian felt of others’ affection. How much trouble Brian had accepting that people cared about him and wanted the best for him. Michael guessed he was so used to his parents not giving a shit, that he’d come to expect that no one else would give a shit either. And then when they did, he didn’t know what to do with it, so he’d push them away. For a long time, Michael had been the only exception -- the only person Brian would say he loved. The only person allowed to say they loved Brian, without him cringing or turning away, or throwing up the walls he used to keep himself isolated.

Michael had suspected for a while that Justin was being allowed further and further inside the walls, little by little, bit by bit. Justin seemed to see Brian in a way that few others did. And that had incited Michael’s jealousy, because his subconscious still wanted Brian all to himself, even though he knew in his heart they’d be all wrong for each other as lovers. Brian loved his sexual freedom, while Michael someday wanted to settle down with one person and have a family. Like he was about to do with David.

Brian had been letting Justin in, slowly. It was different from the way he was with Michael. And if Brian had gone to the prom with Justin, and kissed him in front of everyone, Michael knew that Brian’s feelings for Justin went deep. That his feelings were different from how he and Michael felt about each other.

Michael wanted his best friend to be happy. So Justin had to make it. Because if what Michael was seeing now was any indication, if Justin didn’t make it, it would destroy Brian.

Pulling a chair alongside the couch, as close as he could get it, Michael sat down. He hesitantly reached out a hand and stroked Brian’s hair, hearing how his friend’s silent sobs suddenly became audible at his touch, then slowly got louder.

Michael cast his eyes upward and said a prayer. A prayer that Justin would pull through. And that Brian would be okay. He wasn’t even sure he believed in God, but he was tired of feeling helpless.

Slowly, Brian’s breathing slowed and evened out, and he started to snore quietly. He was asleep. Michael continued stroking his hair for a few minutes, then propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his head into his hand to try to get some sleep himself.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Michael was startled awake by Brian’s voice, saying Justin’s name over and over -- first, sounding frantic and panicked, then so despondent that Michael felt it in his chest. He was having a nightmare. Brian was whimpering and twisting and writhing, and Michael was afraid he was going to fall off the couch, so he quickly got to his feet and carefully placed his hand on Brian’s shoulder, trying to wake him without scaring him any more than he already was. Michael thought he caught a glimpse of the bloodstained white silk scarf, still around Brian’s neck, this time under his clothes.

“Brian,” Michael said softly. “Wake up...it’s just a dream.”

The noises and the writhing gradually slowed down, until Brian’s eyes blinked open and he stared at Michael blearily. He let out a shaky breath.

“No it wasn’t,” he whispered. Michael could barely hear him, his voice was so quiet. “Not really.”

He closed his eyes again and just breathed for a few minutes. Michael could tell he wasn’t asleep, but neither of them said anything for a long time. Brian was the one who broke the silence.

“I just want to wake up. I want this to all be a dream. A nightmare. But it’s fucking real. And it was my fucking fault.”

Michael guessed Brian was still wearing the scarf as penance -- a reminder of what he’d done. He decided not to say anything about it.

“Brian, this wasn’t your fault. Chris Hobbs did this. You didn’t.”

“He did it because of me. Because I came to the prom,” Brian mumbled. He sounded like he was on the edge of falling asleep again.

“That’s not true. He did it because he’s a homophobic bastard. Not because you love Justin.”

Brian’s eyes snapped open at Michael’s last three words. He stared at Michael, blinking. Michael wondered if he’d said too much. Gone too far.

“I know you love him,” Michael said gently.

Brian pulled his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes again. He nodded just slightly -- so small that if Michael hadn’t been looking right at him, he would have missed it. Confirming what Michael already knew, because if Brian didn’t love Justin, there was no way this would be affecting him in the way that it was. Brian Kinney’s usual method of pain management was drinking, doing drugs, and fucking everything that moved. Not keeping vigil in a hospital, barely able to keep his emotions in check. This was definitely new territory for Brian Kinney.

They both got a few more hours of sleep, even though nothing in that waiting room was comfortable. Not the couch, not the chairs...nothing. They were intended for sitting during the day, not for spending the night. But Brian wasn’t leaving Justin, and Michael wasn’t leaving Brian.

Another day passed with no real news, and no real improvement. Their little Liberty Avenue family continued to drift in and out in shifts, with Michael and Brian the only fixtures in the room. With each passing hour, Brian looked more and more lost. He’d wandered down the hall to Justin’s room a couple of times after Jennifer left, but Michael still couldn’t get him to go in.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Brian had said, on his third trip to Justin’s door, as Michael was trying to encourage him to sit by Justin’s bedside for a while. Talk to him. Hold his hand.

“You won’t. I know you won’t. They say coma patients can hear you. I bet he’d love to hear your voice.” Michael paused for a moment. “It might help him if he could hear you.”

Brian looked back and forth between Michael and Justin, biting his lip and looking more unsure than Michael thought he’d ever seen his normally confident, self-assured best friend look.

“I’ll go in with you, if you want,” Michael said. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, then pushed the door open. He stood and waited, to see if Brian would go in.

Brian stood still for a moment, standing in the doorway, as if he really wanted to go in, but he was afraid to. Like he didn’t know what would happen if he did. Eventually, he took a halting step, then another, then another, until he was fully in the room, at the foot of the bed, staring at Justin.

Michael followed Brian into the room. When Brian stopped, Michael placed a hand on the small of Brian’s back. “Sit down over there,” he urged, keeping his voice gentle as he gestured toward a chair pulled up close to the other side of the bed.

Ever so slowly, Brian started in the direction of the chair, with Michael guiding him there. He sat down, still hesitant.

“You can touch him,” Michael whispered. “You won’t hurt him.”

He watched as Brian reached out a shaky hand toward Justin’s, getting it ever-so-close and then pulling it back, then getting closer again, and withdrawing it once more. On the third try, he slid his hand under Justin’s, then gently closed his fingers around Justin’s palm.

Just the simple action of making physical contact with Justin seemed to overwhelm Brian. He looked like he was fighting with his emotions. Like he had something he wanted to say or do, that he didn’t want an audience for.

“I’ll be outside,” Michael said, before turning and walking out the door, closing it behind him to give Brian some privacy.

He wanted to watch, but he didn’t want to intrude. He was just glad that he’d finally convinced Brian to see Justin -- touch him -- and see that he was still there. Still breathing.

Brian sat with Justin for a long time, until a nurse told them that visiting hours were over. They went back to the waiting room, which was starting to feel like their temporary home, at least to Michael. He hoped there would be some positive news soon. Mostly because he wasn’t sure how much more of this Brian could take. Michael was worried about him. They’d barely managed to get him to pick at a sandwich, and he’d hardly had anything to drink either. But Michael wasn’t sure how to convince Brian to take care of himself, when it seemed like he simply didn’t care. The only thing Brian cared about was Justin, and whether or not he was going to be okay.

On the third day after the bashing, they finally got some good news. Justin was showing signs of normal neurological activity. He wasn’t brain dead. He wouldn’t be a vegetable. He was still in the coma, but the doctors were now sure that he would survive.

Jennifer was the one to deliver the news -- mostly to Debbie, although Brian and Michael were in the room as well. Jennifer was still ignoring Brian, but she’d never asked him to leave. She seemed to understand that he needed to be there, even if she didn’t really want him there. And Michael wanted to grab her and shake her and tell her that none of this was Brian’s fault, and she shouldn’t be mad at him. That he didn’t deserve her contempt. But he didn’t say anything. He was too relieved at what she’d said.

Justin would survive.

Brian practically collapsed in on himself at the news, letting out the biggest and deepest breath Michael had ever heard. He buried his face in his hands and started to cry. Michael wrapped an arm around Brian and stroked his shoulder with his hand. Michael didn’t think he’d ever felt a bigger sense of relief himself -- he could scarcely imagine what Brian was feeling right now. This time, Brian’s tears weren’t of fear or sadness. He was releasing the tension that had built up inside him over the past three days of not knowing.

Debbie jumped to her feet and hugged Jennifer tightly. They were both crying, too.

Maybe homophobia hadn’t won, after all. There were still awful people in the world, and there always would be. Like Chris Hobbs, and the guys who had hurt Michael so long ago. But as long as the good guys survived and kept going, the bad guys wouldn’t win.

After a few minutes of holding each other and crying, Jennifer and Debbie walked together down to Justin’s room, leaving Brian and Michael alone once again in the family lounge. Suddenly, Brian hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, grabbed the bag with his tuxedo that was still stuffed under the chair, stood, and walked out of the room without saying a word.

Confused, Michael trailed behind him.

“Brian?” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Brian said simply, not turning around to look at Michael.

“Don’t you want to see Justin?”

When they got to the elevators, Brian pushed the button and stood staring at the door.

“I have to go,” he said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why Brian was suddenly leaving, just when they’d found out Justin was going to be okay.

The elevator arrived, and the doors slid open. Brian stepped in, and Michael followed him.

“You should go to Portland,” Brian said, as he pushed the button for the ground floor. “Be with David.” Once the doors had slid shut again, Brian grabbed Michael in a tight hug, practically crushing him to his chest. “Thank you,” he said quietly in Michael’s ear.

Michael was still regarding Brian with confusion. He had mixed emotions himself. He wanted to be with David, but he also didn’t want to leave Brian alone. Not right now.

“I’ll be alright,” Brian said, as if he could hear Michael’s thoughts.

Michael had his doubts about that, but he knew better than to argue with Brian when his mind was made up. Brian would find a way to push Michael back into David’s arms, just like he already had, twice.

A day later, Michael was finally on a plane, headed to Portland. To his new life with David. With a ticket Brian had bought him.

And as the plane sped down the runway and lifted toward the sky, Michael looked heavenward and said another prayer, to the God who had apparently answered his previous one. This time, that Justin would continue to recover. And that Brian would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, SandiD, for keeping me in line and helping me make this story the best it could possibly be.
> 
> I based the references to Michael's past on a video from Hal Sparks, where he explains the backstory he made up for Michael to inform his portrayal of the character. You can view that video [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPN8A0Zb3OI) if you're interested.


End file.
